


i wish i could be you, i wish we could love

by spaace



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Car Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25578562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaace/pseuds/spaace
Summary: "richie wants to touch him now, like when he was still an funhouse mirror full of possibilities; the corner of his smoother jaw that didn't have stubble, the arch of his cheekbones where his glasses should be, like richie's. maybe it's the alcohol and the promise of a killer hangover tomorrow, the music fading and seeming so far away that it leaves just the two of them, or the dim light filtering in from the streets and casting a soft glow on everything. maybe it's the sudden realization that this guy was so close, so close and so real, and there would never be a "right time," always just a neon flashing light in richie's skull blinking "now, now, now,""or the one where richie meets his doppelgänger and makes out with him
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Mike Wheeler
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	i wish i could be you, i wish we could love

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on tumblr! @denbroughbill

richie's intoxicated. he's ignoring his phone in his back pocket, with missed calls and "why aren't you answering?" text messages. this party is pulsing with people and music, the bass line shaking the floor beneath him, and it's the most fun he's had since break's started. or maybe that was just because he's drunk, he wasn’t too sure. he also wasn’t sure where beverly had went, or how long bill's been in the bathroom, or how many drinks he'd had. there was a vague memory of being outside after pregaming with his friends, stumbling down the darkened street, and almost toppling into some bushes. the sound of beverly's laugh still reverberated in his ear.

he can't focus on much but he's focusing on his reflection. there's a full length mirror hanging in whoever's place this is, and richie can see the mass of dancing bodies behind him, kissing and groping and sweating, clothes furiously glowing under black light. the closer he inches towards the mirror, the brighter the whites of his eyes become, and he can see his teeth glow bright when he opens his mouth.

he notices his reflection is taller, it must be one of those carnival mirrors. 'a fun party prop', richie thinks, and he likes it. the mirror's playing tricks on him-- his reflection has a sweater that's making richie sweat like crazy. there's a cloud of smoke that hangs over the whole house, and he's pretty sure he started the night on cheap beer, but the liquid in his cup is now an alarming shade of blue, practically glowing in the fluorescent light of the hallway.

he takes a tentative sip, then croaks. “what the fuck.. definitely not beer,” he mutterers to himself, but his reflection did not drink.

“not sure beer traditionally comes in that color,” the man in the mirror says matter of factly, and a little smugly. and it's only then richie realizes, he was never looking at a mirror to begin with. he pulls his hand back quickly from ghosting over what was his reflection, extended and ready to touch.

he blinks hard and steps back, but the doppelganger's still here, with an expression of confusion, more so than amusement.

and it's really, really freaky how much this guy looks like richie. 

"woah, why the fuck do you look like that?" he asks, richie yelling over the music. it's distorted and chaotic, bruising radio noise and the party goers can't keep up with the beat anymore. it sounds like a bad, bad, fever dream, and definitely isn't helping richie's situation here.

the man shrugs with his hands up, brows knitted together, and the smug look is replaced with a quizzical one, and he responds loudly, "i just do."

"let's go outside?" richie blurts out. maybe he can lure this guy somewhere quiet to figure out this whole doppelganger thing, somewhere where his head wasn't spinning. 

but this man scrambles backwards a little and says, "what? no way." maybe he didn't think they looked alike, and didn’t know what he wanted with him. maybe richie's really, really drunk. they're equally apprehensive, the man refuses a couple times, but now they're passing a set of beer pong tables outside. there's light chatter outside and muffled witch house music coming from the house. not too far off, richie ducks under a string of christmas lights that hang from tree branches over his car. 

"what's your name?" richie asks, ransacking his denim jacket for his pack of smokes.

"mike," mike answers, not realizing he's still yelling like there's music. he lets out an apologetic laugh, but he's not leaning against the car, getting comfortable. his eyebrows are still furrowed with his arms are crossed over his chest, protecting himself as he still tries to figure richie out.

"you want a cigarette, mike?" richie juts the package in his direction, offering enthusiastically, then shrugs when mike refuses with a scrunched nose and look of disgust. it's really freaky how much mike looks like him. except for the ridiculous thrifted sweater which made richie want to snort with laughter, but he's trying his best to keep it contained, because he wants to know more. they look similar enough that richie wonders for a minute if they were somehow separated at birth, and his mom never mentioned he has a twin out there.

"i'm richie," he roughly gets out between his teeth where he's holding the cigarette in place, having trouble with the lighter.

that's when it's like mike reads his mind, and it's his turn to ask a question, "when's your birthday?"

"march 7th, 1997," so not twins, not even enough time between for brothers.

mike nods, and a smile eases on his face, just a little, but it’s the first time he hasn’t looked angry or terrified since richie crashed into him, so he'll take it. richie chuckles a bit before he rolls a cloud of cigarette smoke off his tongue. there's silence between them again, besides the distant whoops and hollers from the beer pong table across the way. he hisses in a breath, his throat burning, before asking, "you ever heard of associative mating, mike?"

mike sputters and laughs, and it breaks the weird tension that’s been hanging above them. richie feels strangely proud of himself; like learning how mike works is a staggering kind of achievement. the corner of his mouth twitches when he sees mike's looking at him like it was the funniest thing in the world, and a mischievous smile that dares him to try and make him laugh again.

and mike says, rolling his eyes, "oh, no, shut the hell up," like they didn't just meet five minutes ago, like he wasn't just the hardest shell to crack, and unfolds his arms to push him playfully in the shoulder.

richie stumbles back, because of the push, and how he's stepping out of his comfort zone, and of course, because of the drinks, and he's snorting with laughter. mike's lit up like a firecracker, ready to prove richie wrong. 

"it's true," he insists, stepping closer. mike's keeping his eyes glued on him and taking a sip of that electric blue jungle juice. there's obvious differences between the two that richie can distinguish better outside, even though it's so dark. mike's nose is slender and longer, his jaw softer and rounder, and his hair is gentle waves, curling at his jaw, where richie's is long and wavy. richie didn't think he was all that good looking, but this mike guy's cute, and didn't look too different than him.

he points his cigarette at mike, grinning. "people want to fuck other people who look like them, it's the truth." 

mike shakes his head, "we do not look alike," so he sees it too? or in this case, doesn't see it? is he saying he doesn't want to fuck him? ouch, it stings. the moonlight hits him and turns him all silver. mike has the height advantage, towering ever so slightly over richie as he says,

"first, you've got these dumb glasses," mike shoves his red solo cup at richie, gesturing to his frames. he emphasizes the word 'dumb'. richie blinks, adjusting his glasses, but he's drunk and exicted, his face hot and flushed.

"dumb glasses? what about your fucking sweater, grandpa?" he shoots back, surprised when his voice comes out steady even when mike's looking at him like that, like he wants him. in the dark like this, he's a dim silhouette, half of his face is edged in moonlight, his dark hair glowing blue. mike's mouth stretches into a smile as he throws his head back in laughter against the hood of the car. it's not suppressed or held back, but a loud, genuine laugh and richie notices how the moon plays with the curves of his face, eyelids hanging heavy and his mouth curling into a smile.

the long lost twins and doppelganger questions have been long gone, now it's, "is he single? is he interested? do i have a chance?" usually, richie's pretty smooth at this part. he’s good at reading when someone’s flirting, when someone’s hoping he’ll make a move, when someone wants to make a move themselves and wants a sign that richie's receptive, but richie's heart is pounding in his ears, and mike is different. 

richie wants to touch him now, like when he was still an funhouse mirror full of possibilities; the corner of his smoother jaw that didn't have stubble, the arch of his cheekbones where his glasses should be, like richie's. maybe it's the alcohol and the promise of a killer hangover tomorrow, the music fading and seeming so far away that it leaves just the two of them, or the dim light filtering in from the streets and casting a soft glow on everything. maybe it's the sudden realization that this guy was so close, so close and so real, and there would never be a "right time," always just a neon flashing light in richie's skull blinking "now, now, now,"

"c'mere," richie says, and holds up his hand, so they can compare.

mike sends him another one of his puzzling looks, laughing, denying the request. "no."

"come on, fucker," richie teases. mike hesitates and sighs before putting his hand on top of richie's. they're pretty close to the same size. richie's might be a touch wider across the palm, and mike's longer fingers can curl over his. richie's nail beds are wider and shorter, where mike's are longer, with knobby knuckles, but even their wrists are similar. 

richie shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and mike keeps his hand up. his hand's heating up richie's palm, and his look isn't as questioning as it once was; his lips are pursed together on the side of his mouth like, "what now?" and his eyes are darting back and forth between their hands and richie's face. it makes richie's breath hitch and his tongue dart out to lick the corner of his lips. 

it's not until now he realizes he wants to kiss him, and he's wondering if mike wants the same thing, too.

he wants to ask before he sobers up. he has beads of sweat trailing down his temple and the back of his neck. he's enticed by mike, a good word his buddy ben would be proud of. mike raises a curious eyebrow, probably wondering where that calm, cool, collected richie went. yeah, mike's been playing hard to get this whole time but he's gotta know. richie opens his mouth, and mike hums softly, a sparkle in his eyes, then the words get caught in his throat.

a cold gust of air passes by and takes all of richie's confidence with it, leaving his mouth dry. mike shivers, pulling his hand back fast to wrap himself up in his arms, and the spark is gone. his hair moves with the wind, he's gritting his teeth and cursing under his breath from the cold.

"your stupid sweater isn't doing such a good job, huh? do you wanna get in my car?" richie hopes he hasn't blown his chance. 

he crushes the cigarette under his heel as mike nods, smiling ever so slightly and close lipped, like he's humoring him, then he retreats to the passenger side of the car. richie sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. mike's awakened something deep within him, a fire in the pit of his stomach, and he wants to make him warm again. 

the old car's heating system kicks in after they settle inside, and the windshield slowly starts to fog from the heat. richie's cd starts up again, and he apologizes for it being so loud and startling. they're sitting close enough richie can feel the warmth of mike's skin radiating onto his, and can see the way his eyelashes flutter shut when he blinks. it's registering in his brain that mike's talking to him, but he can’t seem to drag his eyes away from mike's mouth. his lips are so pink, and not chapped like his, and when his mouth moves, richie can’t help but notice how wide it is, how soft the skin there seems. "hey," richie starts, leaning closer over the armrest and turning down the music volume. 

mike shoots a look out of the corner of his eyes, then tilts his head in richie's direction. 

"hey," he says again, licking his lips, "can i kiss you?"

with much more eagerness than richie assumed he would have, mike answers by fisting a hand in richie's denim jacket and mashing their lips together. there's a slow, steady flame that starts in his chest, spreading throughout his body, that lights the whole car on fire. it's too fast and way, way too hot. richie's dick kicks and his stomach flips thinking about how long mike's wanted this, too, and he lets out a growl. richie finds mike's hair and twists it tight, tugging him to a better angle so richie can get his tongue deeper into the mouth that’s so much like his own. it doesn’t seem as strange to richie anymore that mike sort of looks so much like him.

"c'mere," richie says, hot and heavy, and this time, mike complies. he quickly crawls over the cup holder dividing them and maneuvers his way onto richie's lap, only breaking apart the kiss occasionally to whisper "ow," every time he hit his head off the top of the car and "move your seat back, jackass," and there's this new sheepishness to his voice that turns richie on. mike has to curl around richie to kiss him deeper, being so tall, and he has one hand clinging onto richie's wrist which is placed firmly on the gear stick to balance him, his head spinning from how fast everything's happening. 

richie grins ear to ear, licking the faint taste of mike off his lips, he tastes like earl grey and honey. richie's veins are throbbing and his heart bangs against his chest, he moves his seat back with so much enthusiasm they slam their foreheads together. they laugh and richie blinks hard and looks up at mike, straddling his lap. he seriously can not believe this is happening, it's too hot and hard and mike's biting his lip, looking back at richie.

richie shakes his head, then he’s pulling mike down towards him, lower and lower until they’re so close, until the space between them is thick with static. mike watches him, and richie blinks, noticing that mike's face seems to glow beneath the moonlight that washes in through the window. he finally continues the kiss again, and mike's kissing him so intensely, richie has to cling to him as though he's the only solid thing in this hot and dizzy car. he presses his thumbs against the corners of mike's mouth, making him open wider because richie is so hungry for him, he wants to taste it all. the shaky, pleasured sigh mike lets out opens his lips enough to allow richie to slip his tongue; the low moan that he makes next is completely involuntary, but is rewarded with a small whine from mike, which is definitely the most beautiful noise he has ever heard. 

he slides his hands under mike's navy knitted sweater, and heats his hands up on his soft, warm skin, way different than his own. mike tenses at the cold hands, whispering "fuck," but when richie rubs a calloused thumb over his hip bone, that breaks mike out in goosebumps, shivering in richie's lap. richie wonders if the heat between the two of them is enough to keep mike warm if he throws the sweater into the backseat, so he slides it off of him to test the theory. then mike lowers his sweaty forehead against richie's, a soft gasp is warm against richie's nose. there's no more smart talking or banter, just grunts and panting. mike slightly attempts to shift even closer to richie, his knees now hitting the back of the seat creating a complete lack of space between them, and richie's in heaven. 

this is hot, richie thinks, so fucking hot. sure, he has kissed a few girls before and had one steamy moment that nearly ended with a handy if eddie didn't end up calling him, but this was different. this was mike, the guy he met thirty minutes ago who was way hotter than he is, he can't mess this up. 

richie pulls away, a sudden determination on his face. he looks into mike's doe eyes, checking to ensure that he was still okay with all of this. he takes in everything, almost transfixed on the sight-- mike's hair all rumpled from his own fingers, his eyes glazed over and his lips all pink from their kissing, huffing and puffing, watching richie watch him. he says, "you're so hot,"

then he leans forward and kisses him before mike can say something like, "and i'm really fucking drunk," or "i'm going to reget this in the morning." he takes off his glasses, tucking them on the dashboard, and buries his face in the crook of mike's neck, sucking and biting at the sweat-salty skin above his throat, and mike goes weak for that shit. 

all of mike's squirming and whimpering in a plea for more has richie shrug his jacket off. he kisses him once, twice, three more times, each time hungrier than the last, then mike says his name, "richie," the word comes out sounding like it’s been stuck in his throat, worn down by arousal. his name coming out sounding like a sigh, whispered like a prayer, richie's never going to get over that. and now he’s hard as fuck for mike right now and all he wants is more, more, more.

he carefully slips a hand into mike's pants, palming at his cock through the thin layer of boxers, and mike gasps, his hands grip the armrests tightly in an attempt to manage some sense of composure. mike continues to make various pleasured noises, especially enjoying the feeling of riche nipping and biting his neck again, making his way up to his ears before nibbling at the lobe.

fuck, this guy's hot, but richie's losing his patience now, and wishs he could properly take him on a bed, see all of him spread out for him. he grabs the waistband of mike's jeans and boxers, mumbles, "lift your hips," and slides them down just enough to allow his cock to spring out. he senses mike's relief at the feeling, his head moving back to allow him a few gulps of air, the moon lighting up the beads of sweat that trickle down his chest, and the sight leaves him breathless.

a moment of breathing passes for the both of them, and mike looks down at richie with a deep shade of red present on his face. richie's catching his breath in anticipation, sweat dripping past his brow.

"i've never..." mike begins, and this mother fucker has the audacity to blush like they haven't been making out. never what, never made out with a dude? never seen a dick? never fucked your own clone before? yeah, me either, buddy, richie thinks.

but this guy is trusting him and he feels like a real jackass. now there's a part of him that really wishes he had a proper bed to take care of him, and make him feel good, but richie grunts, because his mouth is wet and warm and missing him, "you've jacked off before, man." 

'good going', richie thinks, and he's going to regret that for the rest of his life, but before mike can say anything snappy in return, richie quickly spits into his hand and wraps his hand around him, dragging his thumb over the head to elicit a response. he's longer than richie, he can feel, and skinnier. mike throws his head back, a shaky moan rippling out of his throat. 

richie licks his lips and continues to look down at what he was doing with intense concentration. he doesn't really know what he's doing either, but he'd never admit it, not wanting to ruin this moment. he knows jacking his own dick feels great, then so having someone else jack it for you must feel really great. what started at first slightly sloppy and out of rhythm soon sounds like the greatest thing mike has ever felt, richie was doing something with his wrist that's working wonders on him, and it wasn't long until some totally delirious curses and murmuring are crawling out of mike's throat. 

this guy is melting in richie's hands, and he loves the feel of it, it feels fucking amazing. richie's quickly pumping his hand as mike's fumbling to try and do the same, eventually giving up with buttons and just pulling richie's jeans down with all his strength, which surprises them both. mike licks his own hand for safe measure and slips his hand between them, continuously sticking to any part of sweaty skin that he met with. eventually finding richie's abandoned cock, he quickly closes his hand around it, experimentally stroking up and down a few times struggling to do it right.

now they're both moaning, mike arching at the feeling causing his head to fall onto richie's shoulder. richie thinks he's so soft and delicate and exhausted in his palm, skin hot as he trails his thumb on the underside of his cock. "hey, mike," he coos in his ear, licking his lips, "you feel great," mike continues trying, repeating motions when richie makes any satisfied noise or bites into his shoulder.

and richie feels tears prickle his eyes because it’s overwhelming yet the greatest thing he’s ever experienced in his life, he's honestly never been so turned on before. it's way hotter than all that subscription porn he lied about not buying on his dad's credit card. he uses his free hand to shakily lift mike's head up to exchange more filthy open mouthed kisses, eventually settling for desperately gasping into each other’s mouths with their foreheads pressed together, chanting out small praises and each other’s names when not panting for air. 

mike's close, richie can tell as his gasps turn into high pitch whimpers. "hey, richie, i think i'm gonna cum," he manages to gargle out between his cries, all soft and warm and hazy, and holy fuck, does it sound like music to richie's ears. richie shoves their mouths together again, moaning "alright, cum for me," in the back of his throat, sucking on mike's tongue as his other hand finishes the job, and richie looks up at mike's face as he watches him shudder with pleasure, his face screws up beautifully as he whines out richie's name, and this was definitely one hell of a turn on. richie continues stroking mike through his orgasm, the overstimulation making his whole body limp. mike cries out in pleasure, spilling all over his own chest and richie's hand, then he slumps over, his head resting on richie's shoulder.

after a moment, richie blinks hard. he hopes this is really happening, that he wasn't just jerking it in front of a mirror and making out with himself, or having the weirdest wet dream ever. he sighs dreamily when mike's still there, but he's begrudgingly handing over richie's bright ass cellphone. there's a call he didn't hear because he's was somewhere else so far away, so high on ecstasy, so in the moment. mike's crawling back to the passenger seat and richie misses the feeling of his weight on top of him already. he wonders when the hell this happened, when mike stopped being a star and became the whole damn sky. he likes it, he thinks. he likes it a lot. 

richie watches him fix his appearance in the passenger seat mirror as he answers the phone. he looks fucked, he looks hot, the moonlight enchantingly framing his face, but he's trying to comb his hair with his fingers and rub the sex out of his eyes. mike's pulling his sweater back on, so richie can't see his expression when beverly yells over speaker phone, "where'd we park, richie?", and bill, who stutters worse when he's drunk, says, "it's f- fuck- f- fucking freeze- fucking- f- freeze- it's cold, richie," 

everything's too fast and over too soon, and richie's confused about what just happened, but he's quick enough to react when the car light snaps on and there's a gush of cold wind. he grabs mike's wrist as he's sneaking out the door. "hey," he doesn't know when his throat got so dry to protest. 

"hey," mike turns his head back to richie, eyes wide, dark and blown and staring. he pauses and blinks, then leans across the passenger seat towards richie, a small smile tugging at his lips. he kisses richie quickly but slow at the same time, chaste and restrained, "your friends are looking for you," he says softly, then he's gone.

richie lays back, defeated, moving his damp hair out of his face. there's a faint beeping because mike didn't close the door when he left and now his ghost is haunting the car. the thought of mike kissing him reminisces in his mind, and he should have known someone so much like him would give him hell and send him to his knees.


End file.
